Family of Origin Fun

Confession: My parents fought.  A lot.

They are still married, and you could describe them as happy.  Back in the day, however, weekends were often battled through.

I don’t remember the specifics of the arguments, but I think a lot of their fighting were purely misunderstandings… taken to a nuclear level.  Taking a nerd from St. Joseph, TN and an island girl afraid of the water and throwing them into a cage called marriage and, really, what do you expect?  Lots of differences, not so much listening… a recipe for disaster.

I even remember a fight where my dad went through the house saying that he wished that we would do something, ANYTHING the ‘American’ way.

The ‘American’ way?  What is the ‘American’ way?

My dad continued, “See this?  This is not the way Americans iron clothes!”

Dad was pointing at a folded towel on the floor and the iron sitting on top of it.

What was wrong with that?

“Americans use ironing boards.  They don’t just plop down on the floor and iron on top of a… towel,” he said with disgust.

Like I said, I don’t remember what most fights are about, and it wouldn’t matter much anyway since most fights never stayed on topic.  I’m not sure why the towel irked my dad so much, either.  He never ironed clothes.  And the towel was convenient, much more so than the ironing board, a.k.a. ObviouslyTheGreatestAmericanInventionEVAH.

I wasn’t really sure on what the problem was to be honest with you.  But that day things changed in the McKinney household, and we started using the ironing board, never to return to the towel on the floor.

Reader: Marie, what is the point in all of this?

Well, last week I was getting ready for work and realized I really should iron whatever I had decided to wear.  I could guess where the ironing board was, but I decided to throw a towel on the floor, pop a squat and finish getting ready for work.

“Heh, that’s funny.”

What?  Who said that?

My husband, that’s who.

You know what I say?

Sir, you can laugh at my ironing ways.  You can call me “unAmerican”.  But I will not cave.  If I want to iron on the floor next to the cat’s food, I will.  And if you try to stop me, I will sooo go nuclear level Krazie on your hiney. 

Because THAT is how I roll.

So… so… so there!

One thought on “Family of Origin Fun

  1. […] If you’ve ever been around me you might notice that I’m freakishly paranoid of doing things the wrong way or, worse yet, the not American way. […]

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